“Man, look at the shavings in here,” McCafferty whispered. He picked up a piece of green hickory husk, freshly chewed by a squirrel. Within a minute, leaves rustled overhead and a golf ball–size nut came bombing out of the canopy. A squirrel flashed into view, leaping from one limb to the next. Neither McCafferty nor I said a word. He simply eased the little single barrel to his shoulder and thumbed the hammer back with a dull, metallic click. The gun popped, and the squirrel crashed to the ground with a thud. Soon another limb shook overhead, and this time it was my turn to shoot.